Painted Red
by juliangelus
Summary: Summary: Red painted Valentines: bodies, needs and desires.


So this is a one-shot I wrote for a contest, it's loosely based on the song Blood Stained Valentine from Murderdolls. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Beta/Pre-reader: JoyfulyetHesitantPen, PetersSugarTits

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Drip...drip...drip...drip The red droplets made a rhythmic sound as gravity took hold, pulling them down from his fingertips to the ground. It was the only noise to be heard. The screaming had stopped suddenly a few minutes earlier. Arterial spray painted the walls and floor of the rough wooden cabin. Wet, claret, and sticky, the viscous liquid was smeared everywhere. An abstract pattern of blood spatter, fleshy matter and other bodily fluids, beautiful yet at the same time disturbing. The dripping sound slowed as he dropped the woman's body unceremoniously, letting it slump to the floor next to the remains of the young girl he'd destroyed in his frenzy earlier. It was her blood that decorated the walls crimson, the precursor to the evening's activities. He felt no guilt or horror at their death. They were toys, food, nothing more. There had been thousands before them, and there would be thousands more.

He looked upwards, his red eyes picking out the individual drops of blood on the ceiling. One final drop left its tenuous hold on the roughly plastered boards, landed between his bare shoulder blades and started to make its way down his back. The lone droplet trailed lower and disappeared into the battered pair of Levi's he wore low on his hips.

It wasn't in his nature to feed neatly. His life in Volterra was so regimented that when he fed, he let his inner beast have free reign. So much blood clung to him that it looked as though he'd bathed in it, so much so that it was difficult to tell where the blood on the floor ended and his bare feet began. Barely a hint of the well-worn fabric covering his muscular legs showed through the remnants of his feed; he had eviscerated his first victim, ripping the fragile human to shreds in his frenzy to get at the delicious substance hidden beneath the surface of their skin.

His usually blonde hair, now a dip-dyed pink and red, fell across his face. On anyone else, the pink hues would have been emasculating, but they suited him. His reputation as a lover preceded him; everyone wanted him and he wasn't particular about who he allowed to get a taste of his skills, man or woman. But that was in the past, before her. All those who had come before had faded into nonexistence. She was the only lover he'd been unable to get out of his mind. The harsh expression that normally graced his features faded as he thought of her, not the corpse on the floor but her—his mistress, his lover, his everything.

She'd been given to him in 1865 as spoils after a battle, but she'd immediately cast a spell on him. Her confidence and lack of remorse intrigued him, and he'd known that she was his long before admitting, only to himself at first, that he was equally hers.

Though they'd stood strong by each others' side for decades, though he worshipped her, she was restless and found the castle stifling. She liked to hunt alone, said she felt claustrophobic. So, he let her have the freedom she craved—she always knew where to find him. The castle was their home, and she always returned there. The first time she'd left him, it had been a decade before she'd returned; the next, only six months had passed. When she ran away, he always idly wondered if it would be the last time he ever saw her.

She was his bottle of irresistible poison, his mate, her games kept him on his toes and kept him waiting, anticipating her return. Poison or not, she was his motivation to exist.

This was the fifth year in a row that he'd come to their twisted vacation hideout on this day. He'd known that if she was going to come home it would be on this night, this most special of nights. He had left disappointed the last four, but he had all the time in the world. What was another year to him? To them? She'd left this time without a backward glance, as the heavy throne room door slammed shut behind her.

The whole evening was planned with her in mind. He had thought long and hard about what to get her to make their reunion perfect. He'd thought about roses and diamond rings, but they were just material things and she didn't care for the trappings of royalty and wealth. She prefered quirky gifts, things that most other women would reject outright. He was going to be her gift instead.

He snarled from deep within his blood-soaked chest, the reverberation resonating in the enclosed space. She was near, he could feel her. The pull from where his long-dead heart resided told him that she was close, that she was toying with him. She loved to play her games, loved to make him wait for her. She was the only one that could, that dared to toy with him. His reputation preceded him. He was the ultimate predator, the king of kings, the one whom all others feared and quivered like insects in front of. He relished their fear, it was the balm to his soul. Others had succumbed to the human way of life, others preferred having their meals dragged into a room, forgoing the thrill of the hunt altogether. He couldn't imagine not choosing his feeds, tracking them for hours, days sometimes even months. The chase, the pounding feet as he cornered them, their hearts beating stronger and faster, the sounds making him thirstier, if that was possible. The monster inside relished the pandemonium, the ecstasy of the pursuit, the orgasmic joy of the catch. He fed far more than he needed. The thirst never seemed to leave him. He yearned for the sweet nectar pouring down his throat. It was more than mere sustenance to him. It was life.

He glanced towards the corner as an agonized cry reached him. The boy's tears and screams were music to his ears. He was the last of them, the youngest he had overheard. Not even 12. His pain-filled cries were to and for his mother and sister, to a deity that the vampire wasn't sure, nor did he care, existed. The perfect soundtrack to a bloody evening. The blond man threw back his head and laughed. There would be no more mother, no sister, no more anything; not for the boy. Just this tiny human's delicious blood pouring down her throat, the scent of fear making that primordial elixir even sweeter.

He growled at the boy that his pitiful whining would make no difference, but the boy's whimpers and moans continued. The man backhanded him across the face with a feral roar. Squealing in pain, the boy's hands flew to his nose and pressed against it, blood spurting through his fingers.

The vampire's mouth pooled with venom at the scent of the fresh pouring blood. He could taste it on the air, feel miniscule droplets hitting his skin. The coppery tang filled the whole cabin, his senses went into overload, his eyes blackened with thirst, he swallowed repeatedly trying to resist the urge to drain the boy on the spot. But the young boy was for her, he always made sure he had her preferred choice of meal waiting just in case she arrived. He wouldn't touch the child to feed from him until the blood-splattered clock on the wall informed him that it was after midnight. It was unthinkable to take the boy for himself when there was still a chance that she would walk through the door.

The vampire threw his head back and snarled in frustration, his chest vibrating with the force of it and venom flying from his lips. He grabbed the boy round the throat and lifted him up so his dirty sneakers dangled like a doll's in mid air.

The door crashed open and a gust of wind rushed through the cabin, making the blood-spattered boards creak and groan. The air was cold and goosebumps broke out on exposed parts of the boy's skin. A slow, predatory smile spread across the vampire's lips at the sound, and he spun around. The still sobbing boy was dropped to the floor, nearly forgotten, in his haste to set hungry eyes upon their guest.

She stood there, tall and proud, her long black hair billowing out round her with a smirk on her lips that he knew was for him, only ever for him. He didn't speak. There were no words needed to tell her how he felt. He was just ecstatic that she was there, that she had turned up and their time apart was over. She was his gift; he didn't need anything else.

He stalked purposefully towards her and, without a word, wrapped his hand round the back of her neck; he knotted his fingers in her silky hair and pulled her face to his. His mouth descended and he kissed her deeply. Her lips tangled with his fiercely, unspoken words of how much she'd missed him present, as well as her hunger for him. Luxuriating in the familiar and much-missed taste of her, he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth and bit without mercy. She growled, mouth springing open in angered pleasure, and he slipped his blood-saturated tongue inside to duel sensuously with hers. She lapped at the flavor of his latest victim still so prevalent as their tongues met, slipping and sliding and pushing and pulling, the bloody ambrosia mixed with the taste that was solely him drawing arousal from her core in a rush.

His body pressed against hers, he walked her back until she was pinned between him and the rough wooden wall. he reached down, tearing off her shirt growling with approval when he saw she was bare underneath.

He ran his hands down the side of her face, gently, reverently. He kept her pressed forcefully to the wall, using one hand to pin her arms above her head and started to nuzzle her neck, breathing in the smell of her. God, he'd missed her scent... He snarled and bit down, marking her, revelling in the taste of her venom as it filled his mouth.

She moaned in desire as he marked her, the sting of his venom combined with his scent bringing her close to the edge. He bit down again and she threw her head back and screamed his name over and over as pleasure washed over her and she came trembling in his arms. He held her tight while the waves of feeling passed and nuzzled her neck, butterfly kisses that conveyed his love for her without him having to say a word.

She trailed her fingers across the bare, hard planes of his chest, letting them linger and digging her nails in, a smile on her lips when she heard him hiss. Slowly, painfully, she let one finger trail downwards, through the hair that trailed down leading in to his jeans.

One strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight against him. He lowered his head and his mouth closed over a nipple; then he sucked. Hard. His inner beast roared with approval and mingled with lust when he felt her body start to tremble again in his embrace.

There wasn't an inch of her that he didn't taste and savour, his lips brushing from the base of her neck to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips through her skirt and the backs of her knees. Her moans, shudders and whimpers made him prolong the sweet torture.

She gasped with pleasure as his hands followed his mouth, touching, caressing. She growled as his hands came into contact with her ass.

She kissed slowly along his jaw from the corner of his mouth and he groaned. Her lips continued round to nibble on his earlobe and tease him by biting below his ear. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him growl and snarl with need.

Her eyes widened as he tore his jeans off, she could smell him, the essence of pure animalistic want. She growled softly deep in her throat, trying to tell him without words how much she needed him, how much she craved his touch.

His hands carefully pushed the hem of her skirt up her thighs. He was gentle now, his touch tender instead of rough but still driven by raw, pure need. She drew her lip between her teeth and bit down with anticipation. His hands lifted the material to waist height and he looked up at her, a sly grin on his face. One of his hands caressed her hip gently; then, with a smirk he pulled her panties down whilst never taking his eyes off her for a second.

Hours later, she dropped the child's lifeless body on the floor, her thirst sated. The vampire looked over at her, smiling at the sight of her covered in blood, her hair mussed and looking so beautiful. He picked up her discarded panties before tucking them away in the pocket of his fresh pair of jeans.

Taking her arm he turned and spoke for the first time.

"So, my love, am I your blood-stained valentine?"

THE END


End file.
